Forum:Snake in the Grass
Guidelines *Use the Rpt Template. It's there for a reason. *Avoid short, pointless or disruptive posts. Repeated incidents of such will earn the boot, regardless of status. *Do not Mary Sue, if your character shouldn't be able to do something, they probably can't. If your character shouldn't know something, they don't. *Read the damn thread before posting. I cannot stress this enough. *Use proper spelling and grammar. Good post content can be ruined if it's illegible/an eyesore. *Post your faction and their motivations in the Factions section BEFORE posting in the Roleplaying section (Act 1 etc.). *Do not double post. *Don't dive into battle at the drop of a hat. Just like in real life, a bit of preparation is needed. Such reckless action can be punished, just as such reckless action would have dire reprecussions in a genuine battle. **Punishment severity will depend on post quality, likely enemy preparedness and plausibility of the attack. *This list can and will be expanded/added to as and when I see fit. *Don't metagame. That's when a an In-Character decision is made based on Out-of-Character information. You might know there's an Ork with a chainaxe in the next room, but if your character doesn't, don't make them act as if they do. //--''Run4My Talk'' Background Setting *Gorbal III, Gorbal System, Eastern Segmentum Ultima. Gorbal III was once a lynchpin Cardinal World. The Gorbal System's Administratum Headquarters were centred in the Planetary Capital Vex. It was also the centre of System Worship, almost covered in Cathedrals and ruled over by a Cardinal. Then the Orks came. Making planetfall in 854 M41, Warlord Gorfangz and his Blood Axe horde ravaged the planet for several weeks, butchering the PDF in a series of ambushes and savage close-range battles. Seeing the carnage, the Imperium moved a Regiment of Guardsmen to keep the Orks occupied while they defended worlds that seemed like less of a lost cause. However, when Gorfangz' ships captured an Imperial Stratego, the war on Gorbal III became significantly more draining to the Imperium. It became clear that the Orks were beginning to use strategies specifically tailored to counter Imperial Strategies for the intended battlefields. After scouts reported that Gorfang was consulting with a human, the Imperium decided enough was enough. A group of cut throats to rival the Orks themselves were needed. The 5th Penal Legion were geared for war and made planetfall two years after the war began. Tango Squadron, a band of rogues, even among the craven ranks of the 5th, akin to the Last Chancers, were tasked with the destruction of Gorfang and his human consultant. A suicide mission by any mans standards, but if the Tangos survived, centuries would be cut off their sentences. Led by the murderous Deacon Coletrane and the sadistic Virgil Vasquez, Tango marched into Ork-controlled territory under cover of darkness and began the long trek to Gorfang's camp. Welcome to Hell convicts. Briefing The following is a recording of the squadron briefing Sergeant Major Deacon Joseph Coletrane delivered to the unit designated Tango Squardon, His Glory's 5th Penal Legion, on Thursday, January 14th, 940 M41, Terran Calendar, 0800 Hours, Terran Time. has been altered to protect sound equipment. Coletrane's frequent shouting damaged the recording equipment. Class is in session, Tangos, take your seats! I said, take your seats! :punches Private Jared Richter in the stomach before he can sit on one of the benches lining the room. Coletrane then resumes pacing and shouting. We've been ordered to hunt down this Ork and this strategist. D-Day is dawn in three days time. Same as always, we're gonna worm our way past the Orks. Anyone firing without my order will cost the shooter a fingertip. I'll take it off myself with Aslk's wire cutters. Aslk, you have no fingertips, so I'll have to settle for loosening a hydraulic link here or there or wherever. If someone gets trigger-happy or paranoid, and I run out of fingers, I'm gonna start rippin' off ears. Understood? This is an infiltration mission. Barakus, you're here if we need to throw a demo charge in a window or something. No vehicles. Sorry LeGuie, I know your armoured division feet aren't strong enough for real footslogging, but deal with it. Richter, if you cry about blisters this time, I'll burn 'em off with a heated knife. Vasquez, try not to antagonise people too much. You might have to kill someone in self defence. Again. Airborne recon puts Ork positions about two clicks either side of our planned path, so I guess the flyboys are good for something. Mines are dotted all over the path, so the Orks won't be coming at us in any big numbers. We're only likely to run into the odd Commando or Grot patrol. Shouldn't pose too much trouble. Barakus, I know you're more accustomed to blowing shit up, we'll need you switching those butterfly mines off. I don't want to have any more scars on my gut, you can barely read the tattoos any more. You're on bomb-squad duty too Richter. P'tar, don't go haring off like you usually do. You might get your legs blown off in a mined building, and I sure as hell won't carry you to Balderin's door and back. So we're moving in through the rear of the Ork camp to deal with this Balderin guy. Word from the spooks is he's got a bodyguard of some of the burliest Orks in the camp. Means we'll probably need to bomb him or make a long-shot. That'll be my job or Barakus' job. Tough shit on the rest of you who can't hack the range or the boomsticks. We ice the traitor, then pull back and wait for the Warlord to show up to see what's left of his pet. Then we hit him too. Intel says he wanders around with twenty not-so-jolly green giants. Big fuckers. One o' them looks like a war boar bolted to the top of a big Ork. That's the one who carries the banner. Big dumb motherfucker with more biceps than sense. Word is he's never dropped that banner, and the superstitious greenies think it'll be a bad omen if it ever does fall. I want someone to blow his arms off so that thing hits the dirt. Whoever manages it gets a reward. :clears his throat enthusiastically as he mentions the reward. Additional Guards were posted at the Officers' Mess in case of a robbery. Once we deal with those Orks, we gotta exfiltrate and make our way back along an old sewer system linking the Ork-held city and our own stronghold. It passes right under no-man's land and comes up in a trench system we had to pull out of when Gorfangz brough a Squiggoth along. The Squiggoth was dealt with last week by Artillery, so we don't need to think about that. Snipers say the trenches are completely abandoned. We wait for nightfall, then enter the trenches, cross the dirt wall and make the eight hundred yard dash back to our own lines. Any questions? :Virgil Domingo Vasquez raises his hand at this point. Coletrane does not wait for the question. Yes Vasquez, the Draverean Armoured will ride in when we're done, roll over the leaderless Greenskins and steal all the credit. Target Profiles ---- Warlord Gorfangz Blood Axe High Warlord Gorfangz Blood Axe has been a plague on Imperial Forces in the sector for over two centuries, and his warband appears to have been at the heart and nerve-centre of dozens of atrocities and massacres. It has also run at the forefront of Waaaagh Zaffnikz for almost eighty years as the horde ravaged systems all along the Eastern Fringe. This has led to it containing disproportionate amounts of large, heavily-armed Orks, well-versed in Imperial Doctrine and counter-tactics (or Tiktakz, as many Orks refer to them). Gorfangz himself can be considered a strategic genius by Ork standards, perhaps even on a par with the likes of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka and Nazdreg Ug Urdgrub. He has taken a Bad Moons outlook on battle, and has convinced the vast majority of his forces that if an Ork aims, his gun will not only make just as much noise as not aiming, but is more likely to cause a loud and spiffy explosion, or mangle drastically higher numbers of humans. As common practice dictates Orks do not aim at all, this is cause for concern among Imperial Officers, and figures show regiments fighting against Gorfangz' mob have a life expectancy of three or four hours, significantly lower than the common fifteen. In combat, Gorfangz is extremely dangerous, wielding an immense chainaxe that extends his massive, ape-like reach to ridiculous proportions, making him all but untouchable in melee combat. On the one occasion where an Imperial Colonel cut the head from the chainaxe with a power sword, Gorfangz impaled the hapless officer and used his body as the head of his new hammer. Gorfangz is always accompanied by his standard bearer, Hurgha Too-teef, a hideous beast almost as large as the Warlord himself, but lacking any ambition for taking over the warband. Gorfangz' banner changes from battle to battle, but Hurgha will wield it like a weapon regardless. And with a creature like Too-teef using it, it matters little what hangs from the steel signpost when the Ork caves your head in with it. Stratego Balderin Telemachus *'Date of Birth:' January 23rd, 577 M41, Terran Calendar *'Date of Death:' As soon as possible, please *'Height:' 6' 1" *'Weight:' approx. 77kg *'Rank:' Magos Stratego Balderin ranked as one of the Bathos Sector's greatest strategists and tacticians, confounding both Ork and rebel forces with clever ruses and double-bluffs. He was being moved to combat Waaaagh Zaffnikz when Warlord Gorfangz Blood Axe's flotilla attacked his ship. Gorfangz himself boarded the ship and coralled the tacticians, offering them a choice between service and death. Balderin was the only one who chose to live on, originally intending to feed the Orks terrible strategies until a rescue effort could be mounted. At some point, something went terribly wrong with Balderin. He began to sympathise with the Orks, believing that they were merely fighting for survival when Mankind did nothing but attempt to destroy them. He even began to behave like an Ork, ensuring he had the largest, foulest bodyguards in the horde, aside from those guarding Gorfangz himself. And he put his retinue's muscle to use, bullying other Orks into submission until he had formed a reasonably large group of parcel-runners and messengers for running battle-plans to and from the Warlord. He began coming up with counters to every Imperial Strategy he could think of, and Gorfangz' horde became the premier line-breaker force in Waaaagh Zaffnikz. His assassination was ordered by the Adeptus Terra two years prior to the 5th Penal Legion's arrival, and now Tango Squadron must bring him down. ---- Prologue - The 5th Penal Legion Camp Three Days before D-Day ---- The Front Line stretched for miles in every direction. The 5th Penal Legion had been stationed along a seven mile stretch to act as a bullet soak for the Orks while the artillery set up to hit the Ork lines. Should've taken some maps before the Orks overran the Librarii. Tango's transport ground to the front lines, ready to drop the convicts off to prepare for what HighCom assumed would be another suicide mission. The back of the truck creaked open and the convicts stepped out, bound and shackled. Deek tried to stretch his legs in the shackles. Wasn't working. Really wasn't working. He hated being chained. An orderly in Flak Armour pulled up either side of him, each one grabbing an arm to stop him stabbing the orderly who popped the lock off the chain around his waist, then the shackles around his ankles, and finally his cuffs. He turned back to the truck and grabbed his footlocker, a crate "liberated" from an Armoured Division Ammunition Dump. He could get geared up when Tango set up in their designated dugout. Designated dugout being a building surrounded by wardens at all times. He squinted in the bright floodlights and searchlights illuminating No Man's Land to give a head's up for any Ork Trench Raids. They'd been up since a Blood Axe raid shredded every living thing in a two-mile stretch of trenches a week ago. Deek strode past the wardens and slid his footlocker to the foot of the only comfortable-looking bed in the dugout. Place wasn't bad, by the standards of some places Deek had spent time in. He pulled on his Flak Jacket and Carapace Vest on, after strapping on his knife belt and filling up his boot sheathes. He spun his helmet in his hands as he sat on his bed. "Here we go again," Deek grumbled, lying back on the bed as the rest of Tango filed in. As the convicts began to choose their beds in the dugout, Virgil Vasquez comfortably pushed aside a newer member of the 5th as he took a bed nearest Deek, throwing his pack onto the old, creaky cot as he flexed his muscles and stretched a bit. He hadn't had free movement since they'd left another planet in the Taranga Sector to move about. A wild grin made it's way onto his face as he again felt the familiar sensation of quazi-freedom. Opening his pack, Virgil proceeded to put on his own equipment, pulling on his old flak jacket and respective elbow/knee pads. Twirling his shades in his hands and slipping them onto his shirt collar, Virgil attached his sidearm holster and comfortably slid in his stubber, feeling the familiar grip of the weapon in his hand as he slid it in. His boltpistol remained his pack; he would save that for when D-Day came and they were thrown in for their mission. Grabbing his military cap and putting it on his head, he moved towards the front of the dugout as the rest of the convicts came in. "Hustle, Barakus! Don't make me use your own damn explosives as an adrenaline stimulant! Jared, goddamit, stop dropping your shit all over the place!" Virgil could easily be heard moving into his usual carefree manner as more of the convicts moved into the barracks. Leaning against a far wall, Virgil twirled his stub pistol as the rest of the squad moved inside. "I see you, Jared..." Virgil said, pointing the pistol as Jared still came in, struggling to keep his pack together. Virgil clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger, scaring the crap out of a cowardly Jared as Virgil laughed merrily before showing him it wasn't loaded. Virgil had done the joke hundreds of times, but because it was him, no one could ever be sure if he had in actuality loaded the pistol. His wild grin continued to show as he hurled a couple more insults to Tango Squadron to get back in the mood and groove of things. It was the usual way to start off campaigns; begin by depressing Jared, make fun of Magneto for no balls, steal some brandy, kill a Commissar, etc. His mind wandered briefly as he realized he had other, more important things to be doing besides taunting Jared or throwing punches at Fredric. Moving towards his pack, he briefly noticed Deek turned around with his helmet before he also noticed his pack lying unattended behind him on his cot. Holstering his stub-pistol, Virgil quietly tip-toed towards the pack past his own bed, his steel-toed boots obviously not helping towards his stealth. He already knew a convict was watching him, but he wasn't sure who. Of course, it wouldn't manner; they'd be cruising for a bruising if they decided to reveal his intentions to Deek, who obliviously sat on his bed with his helmet, only feet away. Getting to the pack, Virgil quietly pulled up on the footlocker as it made the tiniest of creaking noises, and reached in for a piece of mordian chocolate before Deek spun around his bed and prepared to slam down on the footlocker lid and sever his hand. "Why, hello there, Sergeant Major," Virgil said, smiling. "I was merely, erm, checking to see if there were any malfunctions with your, uh, cadian combat knife. It seemed rather suspicious and I was going to check for sabotage. There must have been spies on the transport, Sergeant Major. We should root them out immediately." Fredric walked enthusiastically out of the chimera, they had forgotten to cage him so he had enjoyed a little talk with it's machine spirit. However, he was hand cuffed, he didn't like the feeling, even though he knew he could unlock them at a moment's notice. It made him feel significantly weaker, Fredric walked into the dugout and was given his equipment back, JPL came flying around Fredric's head, just missing a swift punch from Frost. Fredric Clamped his bolter under his wrist and put his carapace armor on under his robes. Fredric was third into the dugout, not too shabby, and no cameras as far as he could see, better keep a sharp eye on Frost then. He jumped as Frost made the empty pistol gag. again. He sat down on one of the less comfortable beds, Fredric wasn't one for sleeping, he would probably be out later the night if he was able tinkering with machines and getting food of the ratlings black market. JPL hovered just behind Fredric's head constantly staring at Frost, he looked over to Jarred, the kid was shaking, again. Fredric sat down on his bed, and heard a crunch, he looked underneath to see a large insect, he took it out and dropped it on the floor. Fredric put the power axe in the corner and sat up to the small desk where he began to draw weapon designs and his latest style of prothemium grenades, he drew incredibly rough sketches as he knew frost always destroyed his first copies. Mission kicked off in three days. Fun. Liana was kicked out of the chimera violently and was escorted out cuffed and guns pointed at her head,She'd caused a little bit of a disturbance a short while before the mission by attacking a stormtrouper.As she was finaly unlocked she was shoved into the dugout,She was the fourth to arive in the bunker,just before frost tried the empty gun trick Again.She droped her kit on the bed furthest away from frost and close to fredric.Their were no survailence devices in the room as far as she could see and she was sure fredric would have spoted them if thier were. As she sat down on the bed and leaned back she opened up her backpack and took out her pulse pistol,She'd charge it up on the generator later.She didn't want it to fail on the mision and she'd last charged it before joining the 5th.3 days to go,Lovely Raynor P'tar popped out of the Chimera, a bounce in his step despite the handcuffs around his wrists and chains around his ankles. Him of all people was prohibited from having free movement. Stretching his legs slightly, Raynor waited patiently to have his shackles unlocked. After the nearest guard had finished this, Raynor took off at a light jog towards the designated dugout; increasing speed all the while. Now at a sprint, Raynor shoulder barged a guard into a wall before bolting through the doorway into Tango squad's bunking area. Setting his eyes on the bunk closest to the far wall, Ray yelled "I call this bunk!" in a high pitched, almost childish voice before rushing towards it. Spirit of a traceur to the end, Raynor jumped onto Liana's bed, using it as a trampoline before jumping onto Fredric's shoulders, effectively using him as a diving board. Paying special attention to shifting his weight down on Fredric's shoulders, Raynor jumped as Fredric began to fall, lading with a bounce on his newly claimed bed. Turing around, Raynor laughed mischievously as he saw Fredric picking himself up, a look of annoyance on his face. "Hey Fredric, gotta' keep on top of things!" Raynor stated in a mocking tone, hearing a small "Get fucked..." in response. Relaxing back on his bed, he admired how soft it was in comparison to the hard floors he was used to. He closed his eyes temporarily, only to open them again at the sound of Frost speaking to him. "Hey Ray," Frost trailed off. "Yeah?" Raynor said, looking up. He fell of his bed as the gun in front of him clicked, empty. He could have sworn he could sense Fredric smirking somewhere behind him. Stepping out of the Chimera into the bright floodlights, Cale put his Cap on and strode forward. Ever an air of confidence around him, the Corporal stood stock still as the chains restraining him were removed. Rubbing his wrists as he turned and grabbed his pack that was left at the edge of the hatch, he picked it up and checked nothing had been removed. Amongst Convicts you could never be too careful he thought. That was especially true when your pack was full of all different kinds of explosives and chemicals. Finding that nothing had been liberated by anyone else he turned and confidently strode towards the dugout designated for Tango. Raynor darted past him and around a few other troops of the 5th before shuolder charging a guard and dashing inside. As the guard moved to retaliate another convict whos name he didnt know tripped him up. Cale saw all this and shrugged it off as he stepped over the trooper on the ground, it wasnt any of his problem unless a brawl ensued. Stepping inside the dugout he noticed the other long serving members were already inside. Deek was layng back on his bunk and Virgil was barking stuff out. Frost shouted something in his direction but Cale just shrugged it off, it wasnt the first time and wouldnt be the last time his Sergeant barked at him. Striding towards a bunk near where Deek was laying many of the newer members to the 5th stepped out of his way. Barakus smirked. He realised he had developed a reputation as a loose cannon a bit on the crazy side and did his best to further that reputation. Picking his bunk he dumped his pack and began to unload a few of his explosives supplies. On the Chimera he'd had an idea for a bomb and wanted to put it together. A small ball hit him in the back as he was about to get started. "That ball comes my way again im gonna shove it so far up your arse you will gag on it runt!" He shouted at the convict in question who proceeded to move further away and kept playing with the ball. "Frost, keep your runts in line" he shouted at his Sarg who gave him the finger while he was at Deek's locker. Didnt matter if he was a Corporal and could do it, Virgil enjoyed messing with the noobs so he let him do all of it. "Yeah, well go to hell." Virgil said to Cale, all the while withdrawing his hand and releasing the chocolate as Deek gave two quick jabs to his stomach for good measure. Annoyed that he wasn't able to get in Deek's locker for the first time, he rubbed his abdomen and turned his attention to his own pack, which was being rummaged through by some new blood. "What the fuck do you think your doing?!" Virgil barked at the soldier, drawing his stub-pistol and sliding in a magazine. The noob, looking up, was larger than Virgil and a little more muscular. He smiled; it was obvious he didn't know who Virgil was. "Hey bub, go find somebody else's pack to rummage through." The noob said, taking out Virgil's boltpistol and inspecting it. "Do you know who I am?" Virgil said, giving the guy a chance to see his insignia. The man promptly gave him the finger. Virgil started walking towards him. "You don't get what I'm saying, do you, dumbass? Do you know who I'' am?" The runt said, dropping the boltpistol and drawing a combat knife from his side. Virgil didn't wait any longer. He took his machete, lunged forward before the man could react, and made a clean slash through his hand, which promptly fell to the floor as blood sprayed all over Virgil's cot. "This isn't a game of who the fuck are you, greenhorn." Virgil said, still holding his machete. He motioned for two new members to tie off the wound before he threw down the blade into the ground not a centimeter from the convict's head, who was still writhing in pain on the floor. He blinked as the chrome blade nearly took off some of the hair on his head. Virgil crouched down towards the convict's level. "I am the wrong person to piss off, son." Virgil said, watching as the medic stabilized the clean cut at the wrist and led him out the dugout. "Medic... he accidentally fell on the floor and cut his hand off with his own blade." Virgil said. The medic, a seasoned one who had been with Tango forever now, noted the cause of the incident. He turned his attention to the rest of the runts and the dugout, who had been watching the debacle with widened eyes. "Rule number one: I am god. Sergeant Major Coletrane is the man who hired god. Don't fuck with god, or your gonna have a whole 'nother problem on a higher level. One-Handed Joe," Virgil said while pointing to the convict being walked out, "messed with god. He obviously doesn't know that god is skillful with a machete." Virgil said, getting a small laugh out of the new recruits. "Shut up!" Virgil said, and the laughter was silenced. "Get some rest; your going to need it. Tomorrow, we've got trench duty. Then trench duty the next day. Then trench duty the day after that. Then we depart this hellhole for the relative safety of the Orks." "Vasquez, you remember what I told you about cutting up the thieves? Say it with me now." Deek barked to Virgil. "Make them call their own damn medic. How are they supposed to learn how to live out in the real world with you spoon-feeding them all the time?" Deek chewed his fingernails and spat the off-cuts into the middle of the room. It sickened people to step on them, which was the main reason he did it. Not like anyone would, or even could stop him. All nails chewed, he took to spinning a punch dagger into and back out of his sleeve, a little reminder to the other cons that there were more blades hidden in the Sarge's jacket than there were people in the building. He stood up, taking a few paces before settling into a spot where he could see the whole room. And where the whole room could see him. He reached over his shoulder and slowly drew his Catachan Fang. By far his favourite knife. Even more than that Catachan Powered Machete strapped inside the lid of his footlocker. This was his little ritual, his message to the new convicts. Deacon Joseph "Phillips" Coletrane was scarier than anything on the far side of No Man's Land. Deacon Coletrane was as violent as any Ork, as psychopathic as any cultist. As unpredictable as the weather, and more callous than any Commissar. Daemons checked in their closets and under their beds for Deacon Coletrane before they went to sleep. He epitomised the 5th Penal Legion's brutal reputation. He picked his teeth with a knife longer than most shortswords. Once, he killed a Commissar with a mule's jawbone. They were either more afraid of him than the enemy, or they were insane and incapable of fear. "Trench duty is going to be fun. We're gonna laugh. We're gonna taunt the Orks into raiding us. Then we're gonna kill 'em and hang their bodies up in the officer's mess hall. We're going to leave them in doorways, we're going to scare the shit out of everyone else in this stretch of the front. Because we can. So who wants to raid the officer's mess for some booze?" Deek barked. His sense of humour, hanging severed Ork heads in people's doorways and sliding dead Orks into peoples' bunks with them, scared more people than it made laugh. At least there were Regulars around to scare now, and not other convicts. ''"Bah, if I didn't spoon feed em' and didn't go easy, Jared and P'tar would be dead by now from my pistol. Liana would be on the wrong side of a daemonic cult sacrifice, Cupcake would be missing both arms from that incident a couple months back with the promethium grenades, the cobbler medic wouldn't have any shoes, and you'd still have normal fingernails." Virgil muttered, watching as the sun began to rise again for the system. Leaning against the wall as Deacon went through his speech about pissing on Ork warriors, Virgil drew his machete, gathering a startling set of eyes from a now alert convict. Taking the time to clean off the blade, Virgil slowly wiped off the dirtied blood of the now handicapped convict who had been led out by a squad medic. "What was that, Sergeant?" Deacon said, apparently still having hearing. "I was saying how you should fuck off, Sergeant Major Sir!" Virgil said, snapping a mock salute with enthusiasm and giving Deacon the finger. The quick motion gained another laugh from around the dugout, and Virgil thought for a brief second he saw a grin on his commander's face. Re-placing the machete on his side sheath, Virgil ripped off the field blanket of the cot and replaced them with another convict's field blanket, making a quick smile of seniority as he now had a new fresh blanket minus all the shed blood from the former thief. Re-placing his pack, Virgil returned to the thought of the booze offer. "Count me in, Sarge. I'm damn depraved from Tango moonshine as it is." Virgil said, moving towards the dugout door. "Im with ya too boss," Cale shouted from across the room after having a quiet laugh at Frost's antics, "were all in trouble so it cant get much worse." All he got was a short nod from Deek befoe he turned back to his pack. He grabbed his combat knife and strapped it to his belt alongside a couple Smoke grenades. His trusty Fusion gun he stroked before stowing it away, Coletrane might get a bit upset if he went around making too much noise and blowing holes in things when they were trying to quietly liberate some supplies. Noticing one of the noobs eyeing his fusion gun he stared him down and growled. The newer convict immediately looked away. Walking over and crouching down to be at eye level with the convict that had been eyeing his piece he whispered, "I saw you eyeing my gun, make sure it doesnt go anywhere cause otherwise i'll be blaming you. If I blame you im gonna make you swallow a live krak grenade, understand?" The noob stammered a barely audible reply that Cale didnt quite catch. Standing up and heading towards the door he paused for a second, "You should meet Richter boy, you two would really get along." Shouldering through the crowd that was eagerly discussing the pranks the Sarge had put in their heads. They were a bunch of fools, he thought. Despite all the fun and games most of them would be dead by the end of a suicide mission like this, he had seen ot hundreds of times before. stepping past Freddy he gave him a quick non-violent jab in the arm before continuing. Stepping past Vasquez he smirked and said, "One day you're gonna try to get into Deek's stuff and he will actually cut your hand off, funny to watch every time though," he chuckled and stepped outside followed by his superior. There was only one of the guards stationed on duty and he was out cold. Someone must've slipped him something when he wasn't looking. Bending down he flogged the guard's combat knife and slipped it into the edge of his boot under his pant leg. The guard's loss was his gain. Keeping close to the ground, Raynor walked with a speedy precision towards the Officer's mess, staying close behind Cale. Having not been able to practice stealth for some time, Raynor decided to have himself a fun outing. Picking up speed but still not making a sound, Raynor decided to have some fun. He watched Cale take a knife from a sleeping guard, and increased his pace. He caught up to Cale quickly, and put an arm and a small knife around his neck. Feeling Cale tense under him, he put on a false voice and began to speak whatever came to his mind. "I think you might want to stop right there," Raynor began. "What do you-" Cale began to speak, but Raynor cut him off before continuing. "I'm going to take that precious little gun of your once I kill you..." Letting go, Raynor began to laugh as Cale rubbed his neck and turned around. "You almost crapped yourself!" Ray started to tease, before being cut off by a punch to the face. Falling to the ground with an oof, Raynor looked up at Cale. "Now now, no use getting indignant." Cale had something of a smirk on his face. "What exactly was that about, Ray?". Smirking back, Raynor responded. "A little bit of fun. I need some moonshine, but didn't feel like staying in the dugout. I decided to tag along." Getting up, Raynor cast one last smile at Cale before walking inside the mess. Fredric watched as the dugout emptied, a few other convicts stayed behind, one large guy stood back staring at Fredric. Fredric wasn't much use when stealing from officers. He stood out a bit much after all, instead he started assembling a batch of prothemium grenades out of soup tins. He could see the guy creeping towards him, idiots didn't know he had eyes in the back of his head called JPL. he saw him draw a knife. Fredric snickered under his breath, he didn't have a throat to cut. He was less than two meters away now. Fredric aimed as las shot at his eye with JPL, he fired, hitting the asshole in the eye. Fredric got up, grabbing his power axe and used the hilt to smash the idiot in the stomach, he doubled over and Fredric struck the back of his head with the side of the blade, sending an electric shock through his body and making his face slam to the floor. Fredric rolled him over, he was still conscious but disabled, his eye was smoking from the las round. A few other convicts looked on with interest and fear. "Listen" Fredric begun "A single tango can turn the tide of a battle within a day, imagine what my squad will do to you when they get back, no one fucks with Tango" Fredric ran a quick scan over his body, he could see a las gun and another knife tucked under his jacket, JPL picked these up with his small claws and dropped them in Fredric's hand, he inspected them, the knife was rusting and the lasgun was in fairly good shape. "Thanks for your donation to tango's stall" Fredric sat back down and began tinkering with the lasgun, pulling it apart. He pushed the Mechandrite out from under his wrist, squirming into the lasguns tiny machine spirit, deciding what would best be done with the lasgun. Eventualy he decided to finish that bolter he'd been working on, he needed a machine spirit for it. So he spent the rest of the night finish of the bolter. the same night he sold it to a convict for a pair of bolt pistols and a combat knife, which he made another bolter out of. life was good in the penal legions, to congradulate himself he took out the last bottle of Tango moonshine he had. It felt good. Rugar wiped the blood of the last convict to offend him off his shoe. On reflection, the convict's head bounced around pretty well. Satisfied the shoe was clean, he placed it down next to the other of its pair. He turned around to leave, when a slight noise made him spin around. There, stealing one of his shoe pairs, was a broad, muscled convict. "Another one!" Rugar thought exasperatedly. Now was the time for action. Clutching his favourite shoe, he advanced on the convict, exclaiming "STOP! Touch that other shoe..." he left implicit. The convict obviously didn't know who he was, and grabbed the other shoe. "Alright," he yelled, "I warned you. Prepare yourself for a shoe-ing of epic proportions! It shall be a shoe-ing so great, that your head will turn inside out!" Grasping the shoe, Rugar fufilled his promise with a neat hook. Rugar decided that he had few ways to hide the body, so he left it there as an example to all who listened to the news. Nobody tried to steal his shoes and lived. Rather than attempt to hide the corpse, Rugar instead decided to celebrate. He thought how best to celebrate, and decided to do so by learning how to make his shoe spit fireballs. To accomplish this, he grabbed a large amount of moonshine and a few promethium grenades, preparing to set off to try and catch Frederic Alsk that night and try and extort the secret he knew Frederic must be guarding; How to make a shoe spit fireballs. It didn't worry him that every other time he tried to get Frederic to reveal that information, he refused, tonight he felt like he might just be able to. Virgil lied on his bed, his head propped against his wall. His mind drifted as he had opted to not go on a thieving foray, much to the surprise of all the other older members. Smirking slightly at how Rugar had killed another convict with a shoe, Virgil continued to twirl his stub-pistol in his hand and while pretending to aim at different people he would like to off within seconds. First the pistol drifted towards Fredric, who had his back turned to everyone at his desk, then to Lazarus's shoe. He had resisted the temptation to put an expert shot through the front of the boot and order him to discard it, but found that Rugar would be much more productive if he had his favorite weapon to deal with inept convicts who were trying to make names and profits for themselves in a world ruled by himself and Coletrane. The pistol again drifted towards Fredric's direction before Virgil moved the weapon towards the direction of Liana's bed. He'd end that dumb bitch tank pilot sometime during the mission, even if he did enjoy the small talk he had with her sometimes. Holstering the weapon, Virgil continued to look around as he downed some moonshine and drowned his boredom. Jared sat predictably on the side of his bunk, head bowed low over his half-disassembled lasgun as he worked on it. Similarly predictably, he was shaking and shivering like the little bitch he was. Drawing in slow, steady breaths, he gradually pulled the weapon apart, only to slap it back together again twice as quickly. With only a moment's hesitance, he did the same thing again. It was something of a calming ritual for Jared - a definitive way to pass the time while also keeping his attention away from whatever his squad were up to. He'd been driven into this routine by both boredom and one practical joke too many, though due to a nagging feeling in the back of his head he remained vigilant for anyone trying to sneak up on him while he was preoccupied. His bunk was nestled far behind the rest of the Tangos', providing him some miniscule protection from the predations of whatever jackass convicts were busying themselves with bugging the unit at the moment. Jared much preferred it that way - painful, scary and humiliating though they often were, his squadmates' antics had a much lower chance of killing him than that of those outside of Tango. Better to suffer some mild unpleasantry than to die outright, he thought. That was the mentality he'd taken since joining up with the 5th, even if every logical fibre in his being contradicted that sentiment on occasion. Jared finished stripping and reassembling his carbine for what must have been the fourth time until he finally rested in on his lap, one hand on the stock and the other on the muzzle. Staring down at it for a moment, he slid in the power cell, then sighed and flopped back onto his bed, watching the ceiling with the rifle in his arms next to him. He listened to his surroundings and quickly decided that three days was far too long a wait. Cole was the last on in the dugout, “Sarah” safely secured in her gun case and his duffel bag gripped in his right hand. Having a small smile on his face, Cole sat down on a bunk in the middle part of the room. Setting his duffel bag onto the bunk, Cole looked inside it to see if anything was missing. Seeing none, he turned back around to look at the rest of Tango Squadron. He still didn’t know everybody’s names yet, so, he figured it was better if he sat near everybody and learned them. ‘’ Being the FNG sucks.’’ Cole thought, before taking out “Sarah” from her gun case slowly and looking it over for any scratches. Seeing none, Cole set to work cleaning her. Removing the scope, Cole then removed the barrel and the stock and set then back into the gun case. Taking out a rag, Cole then proceeded to wipe out the inside from any perviced gunk. Looking behind him, Cole checked to make sure his Axe was still there. They were facing Orks, and he didn’t want to be without some sort of close range weapon. Shuddering at the thoughts of Armageddon, Cole quickly filled his minds of thoughts of cleaning his gun. “Yyyep. Me and Sarah and good friends, aren’t we girl?” Cole mumbled to himself. Part I - Behind Enemy Lines Deek dropped flat behind a lump of wreckage as the Ork spotlights flashed past Tango. He lay still until it moved on, then back past them, sweeping down the miles-long stretch of battlefield again. It was slow, arduous progress, running and diving from cover to cover, laying flat among piles of bodies when there was no other hiding place. Deek could've sworn he heard Richter crying at one point as they took refuge among the bodies of a refugee column the Orks had used for target practice. Deek almost felt sorry for them. His ma and pa civilian back home could as well have been in similar straits if war ever came to Count Pansy's Land of Chocolate Rivers and Lollipop Trees, or whatever that soft-bellied planet Jared came from was called. Deek jogged along to the wreckage of what had been a house at one point. Three tiny, charred skeletons huddled in a corner where they'd presumably been incinerated by some Ork Kommandos. Deek checked the small map he'd been handed before going over the top. He sprinted out, dodging left and higing under a wrecked Ork vehicle as the spotlight swept back over them. He hated running for his life like this. "I'm a Cadian, damnit. I shouldn't be running, I should be standing and fighting," Deek thought to himself as he rolled out from under the trukk and charged off in whatever this direction was, North and South didn't exactly apply on any planet other than Terra and planets with similar orbits and structure. Four miles this way until they got to the heavily-mined corridor of land that'd take them right in behind the Orks' rear echelons. "Keep moving," Deek snapped back at the other Tangos as Barakus and Vasquez pulled alongside him. "Come on, we don't have all night you spineless bitches." Deek skidded along the ground, under some razorwire left over from the Imperial retreat. Without missing a beat, he rolled to his feet on the far side and waved the other Tangos through as he covered them with his lasgun. Some crawled, some immitated his move. Some did a combination of both, not having built up the momentum to skid the whole way through. Deek glanced over the small sandbag wall he was crouched behind, spotting something of a tank graveyard on the far side of what had been a highway. More wreckage left behind in the retreat. Deek had seen what some tank crews, Cadian Tank Crews, had done to cover retreats. He had respect for armoured crews like that. He'd seen one brave, beautiful bastards overload their super-heavy's power plant and blow a hole the size of a Hab Block in an incoming mutie horde once, back on Cadia. Such a shame not all tank commanders had the sack to do something that brave. Reminiscing over, Deek vaulted the sandbags and crossed the highway as quickly as he could, ducking into the burned-out remains of a Leman Russ as the other Tangos piled in after him. "We got a three mile run ahead of us," Deek grunted. "Catch your breath for five minutes, then we get moving again." Cole squatted in one of the abanded tanks, taking in the air. Across his jumpsuit Cole had added various pieces of foliage, and the hood to the jumpsuit was placed across his head. One could see a small holster on his right thigh holding his stub revolver. Across his back was his axe, ready for it to be buried in an Orks head. Of course, Cole was holding Sarah. Drumming his finger against the side of its ‘body’, Cole shifted his eyes around to look for any extra signs of movement. Ork Lootas or Burnas sometimes like to hang around and take the metal, guns or whatever else off tanks and use them for….something. Shaking those thoughts outside of his head, Cole tightened the silencer on Sarah for what seemed to be the tenth time. Finally, Cole simply just stopped fidgeting and scanned the area for orks over and over again. Buster darted into the blown out russ alongside Vasquez and brought his faithful Meltagun off the strap on his back. Bloody stupid to run into Ork held territory without a gun in your hand, he reckoned. Sliding back out of the tank as the rest of Tango piled in he muttered to himself, "Who needs rest, Im a Cadian dammit and there's work to do." Cale looked around at the burnt and blown out tanks as he scoped the area. It was some bloody good work even if it did come from Greenskins, still he would have done better. He remembered the first tank he had ever blown the holy hell out of, the Traitors screamed in their death-throes as they burned alive before the great machine blew to pieces. A grin crossed his face and he couldnt help but laugh. No doubt the others would think he had entirely lost it if they heard him but he didnt care, there was always a brighter side to war and giving those heretics what they deserved was it. He strolled in the direction they were designated to head as he thought of what Deek might do next. It was always hard to figure out what the boss was thinking but he tried anyway. His best guess was that both himself and Richter would be on point, him to spot and disarm the bombs and the thief to watch for tracks and signs of Orks. Plus it wasnt the job of the Sarge to put himself at risk first. Dunbar would most likely be following at the rear with everyone else in-between, Whether or not that was how it would play out he didnt know but that's how it usually went. Shrugging it off he continued on, it wouldnt be right if one of Tango got blown to pieces by a mine he should have taken care of, just before there had been none so far didnt mean there werent any. Rugar ducked behind a tank, interposing it between him and Cole Dunbar's. He was second last, unfortunately, as having a Long-las was a big drag sometimes. He had it slung across his back, his Heavy Stubber in his hands, and his trigger finger itching as he aimed it around Vasquez's general location. He felt a familliar rage rising, and his vision turning red as he remembered his days upon Triton. He immediately injected something of an antidote to Psychon. Ever since a certain event a while ago, his heart added something akin to a gland. Shaking off his flashbacks once again, he resigned himself to his overwatch position. Scanning once again to avoid Cole blowing his head off, he saw nothing and returned to his position. Liana ducked through the ruins of a tank behind Rugar,she tended to keep as far away from vasquez as posible and that was easier if she stayed with rugar or fredric.Seeing the tanks strewn around the battlefield was painful for an ex tanker like her to see.These tanks were beond even fredrics capacity to fix.Regardless of deeks orders that they wouldn't be using any vehicles on this mission she was still keeping an eye open for anything that could help them on the way back,She took her lasgun off her back and checking her pulse pistol was charged. She was keeping an extra eye on vasquez as well this time,There was no way she was leting him suprise her like he did on the last mission. "Deek don't pay me enough to get out here and tell the Orks to fuck off... then again, he don't pay me at all," Virgil mumbled as he leaned off against the side of the burned out tank with his lascarbine in hand. His head peeked out past the edge of the rear section to peek out in the dirtied tank graveyard that consisted of his temporary motel. Getting jumpy while just waiting in the Leman Russ, Virgil motioned for the rest of the group to listen in. "Dunbar, pop your head up through the top of this tank and get me a view with your scope." Virgil whispered, his head backing in as a crude flood-light washed over near their position. "Private P'tar, your with Barakus. Dunbar will be scoping your advance. Move in about a klick ahead of us and scout. If there's any Ork patrols, do not engage and do not report back unless you have a clear way of returning un-seen. If the path is clear, leave us a trail and find some way to signal us when your ready. The rest of us will follow you in as soon as we see some kind of signal." Virgil ordered. The trio nodded and began to move into their orders. Before Cale could pass, Virgil gripped his shoulder and spun Cale to face him directly. "No. Explosive. Signals." Virgil said, poking him in the chest with his gloved finger. Smiling, the Corporal turned away to move out before Virgil grabbed him again. "And make sure P'tar doesn't blow anything up either." Virgil said, pushing him out of the tank. Cale grinned as Frost spoke to him. He especially enjoyed the fact that Frost said no Explosives, leaving no loopholes, showed his senior knew him which also meant he knew Cale was quite capable of handling himself without them. After Buster had scoped the immediate area and did his very best to ensure there would be no nasty surprises for him or the unit, he had headed back to the busted up tank for the debriefing. It was always a bad idea to miss a run-down, he hadnt survived this long as a part of Tango by disregarding information within his reach. The air outside the busted vehicle was cool with only a slight breeze flowing in the direction they were headed. They would need to be extra careful. Orks had a fairly good sense of smell despite the small brain to go with it, even the slightest smell might alert the brutes to the prescence of living humans. Standing there Cale took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused his mind. There would be no mistakes, he would not fail in his duty. "Stop," Deek snapped as Dunbar and Ptar moved to the outside. Deek moved his hand downwards. Barakus recognised the Cadian hand signals, and Ptar wisely copied. Deek pointed to a small rise up ahead. Three Orks were silhouetted by the searchlight over the trenches. Deek crouched, nodding Dunbar up alongside. "I'll hit the two on the right, you deal with the big ugly on the left." Deek slowly counted down to zero. There was a low puff as Dunbar's silenced rifle fired. Deek's own first shot was drowned out by that deep sound, but the crack of the second shot rang clear in the cool night air. Three Ork carcasses flailed for a second or two, arms pawing at the wreckage that used to be their heads. Deek heard something. Low, deep, far-off. A low thump. He looked around at Barakus, then to Vasquez. Both had a luck of "ah hell no" on their faces. A look Deek himself no doubt had on his own. The distant whistle only hit home harder. "Mortars!" Deek roared, grabbing Dunbar by the collar and grabbing Richter by the arm, his shovel-like hand enclosing the civvie's upper arm entirely, and dragged the pair out of the tank wreckage, sprinting for new cover as the shells came shrieking towards them. The other Tangos came charging out on Deek's heels, sprinting full-tilt towards a small dugout up ahead. As long as a shell didn't hit it and bury them alive, they'd probably be fine down there. Deek shoved Dunbar through the door and threw Richter in past him as he piled in to make room for the others. Deek sighed and awaited the arrival of the shells. Fredric watched as the others piled into the dugout, Liana was a few feet ahead of him, She jumped into the dugout. Fredric was so close, he over did himself however, he felt a small jolt of pain in his mechanical groin. A 2D computer in Fredric's mechanical eye showed he had snapped a wire in two, immobilizing his entire left leg. Fredric tried to switch his run to a hop, however he was going to fast and simply fell flat on his face. Liana appeared at the edge of the dugout "Fredric!" she called out "Get in there!" Fredric called "I'll be fine" He saw her reluctantly disappear from view as Deacon pulled her into the dugout. He took his axe from his back and started limping towards the dugout. The thick mud made it difficult as the shaft of his axe buried itself in the mud. He heard the whining whistle of the mortars. Fredric Dropped to the ground holding his axe in both hands and waited for the Mortars to land. He clamped his eye shut and blanked his bionic eye, he slowed down his mechanics. He activated his thin retractor field and vanished from the view of the rest of tango as the Mortas landed. Rugar looked around as members of Tango piled into the dugout. He had no idea why. His helmet was interfering with his hearing, and he heard no whine of mortars until it was too late. All of a sudden, he heard a high-pitched whine just before the world exploded. Luckily, the blasts were not close enough to kill him, but the shockwave threw him into the dugout with the other members. He landed on someone who cried out, before his own momentum threw him further away. His body begun to respond to this sudden and immediate threat by producing an overdose of Psychon. He was losing his ability for conscious and rational thought rapidly. His vision was engulfed in a maelstrom of blood and battle. He hauled himself to his feet, dimly noticing he had landed on Jared, focused only on exacting a terrible revenge on those who dared to strike at him. His vision momentarilly cleared as another shell landed nearby, allowing himself to inject an antidote to Psychon before he went crazy again. Apologising to Jared when he shook the effects off, he hoped nothing hit the dugout they were sheltering in.